Kindness of Strangers

Sometimes it seems that one of the best things that can happen to a foreign traveler is for things to go wrong. I repeatedly discover that people in India really want to approach me and help me, but they don't have an "in," so to speak. When I do something stupid or something bad happens to me, however, people are only too eager to help out. Sometimes in ways that go above and beyond typical kindness.

McDonald's Emergency Care
While walking along the road outside my house, I scratched my arm on a Vodafone sign that had wire sticking out of it (I have already ripped two shirts on the same wire...you'd think I'd learn!) while trying to avoid a car. I had to get to the ATM so I gave it little thought.

As I walked, I felt blood trickling down my arm. I looked down to find that what I thought was a tiny scratch was gushing blood! I stepped into the ATM room in which two men expressed their deep concern for my arm. The cut was just superficial, but it did look alarming. I went to McDonald's, hoping to grab some napkins and blot the blood away. I waited at the back of the line but a man who evidently thought my wound was much more urgent rushed to the front of the line and grabbed napkins which he brought back to me. Someone apparently informed the staff that I needed first aid, because one of the female workers came out with a first aid kit. She cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged me up! Then she gave me a beautiful smile and wished me well! I didn't even buy anything!

Sari Stupid
I have three saris now, which I love and look wonderful on me...when someone else wraps them. My tailor did not make a petticoat for my latest sari, and I figured "You wrap it like five times. Who needs a petticoat? You can't see through it." Classically naive. So, while traveling in Varanasi, I put my sari on, wrapping it myself, but with no petticoat. I could tell halfway through the day that there were problems, but I was helpless to fix it and just kept pulling and tucking ends. It would not stay put.

At the train station, a shy teenage girl came up to me and said, "Sorry ma'am, are you a foreigner?" Isn't it obvious? Yes I am. She said, "Your sari is not wrapped properly." I said I knew but wasn't sure how to fix it. She smiled and said saris are difficult to wear, which is why she doesn't. She wore the classic youth look: jeans and kameez. She took me into the waiting room where her auntie (also wearing a sari) took control of the situation. At first she wrapped it without the petticoat and pinned it to my undies, but it became clear after a quick walk around that I was uncomfortable. She went digging through her luggage, pulled out a petticoat, got me in it, and wrapped my sari. SHE GAVE ME A PETTICOAT!

She didn't stop there. She pulled out a long jeweled necklace and sticker bindis. She put one on my forehead and insisted I take the whole sheet of them with me. Then she told me to comb my hair and she wrapped it. I looked like a proper Indian woman when she was done. She and her family took lots of pictures of me, offered me food, help, and refused to take payment for the petticoat. I gave her some oil perfumes as a gift. I tried to tell her that the way she had made me comfortable and beautiful was priceless to me.

The Hindustani Justice System
It's not the police. Not sure how much I trust the official law enforcement in India. Thankfully, most people have a deeply ingrained sense of justice that keeps naive people like me from being taken advantage of. From the Sikh who stood up for me on the train, to the woman who told the bus conductor to quit staring at me, people stick up for what's right.

On one occasion, I got lost and had just decided to hire a rickshaw and get me back to somewhere I could recognize. I asked the rickshaw-walla to take me to Hazratganj and he told me the price was 20 rupees. A local man quickly jumped in. He reprimanded the rickshaw-walla and told me that Hazratganj was only a block away. He directed me there himself.

On another occasion in Rishikesh, several touts were trying to get me to pay for an auto-rickshaw instead of the bus, which was way cheaper. I argued with them for several minutes while trying to find the bus to the train station. I finally did find the bus, but told the driver I needed a minute to buy food (hadn't eaten in over 8 hours). I ran to a nearby dukaan to grab some biscuits, chips and mineral water. When I came back, the bus was half-pulled out of its stop, obviously ready to go. Standing in front of it, hands upheld to keep it from leaving, were the very touts I had turned down. They waved me to hurry and when I boarded they stepped out of the way, allowing the bus to continue on its way.

These are just some of the innumerable ways that I have been impressed with the generosity and openness of a society that sometimes seems harsh to me. Life might be rough in Lucknow, but there is a sense of community and social justice that includes even the clueless foreigner.